Jesus Doesn’t Use Fake Plants
I’ve never liked fake plants. Mostly, I’ve just never found them convincing, though I have been tricked a time or two. On more than one embarrassing occasion, I’ve commented on the beauty of an interior potted plant only to hear, “You know that’s fake, right?” It’s always disappointing when, upon closer look, my conversation partner is validated. The fake plant, no matter how realistic, loses its charm as soon as its true nature is revealed. Immediately, I apprehend that my gaze has been fixed all along, not on the organic beauty of God’s creation, but on an imposter product of human technology and innovation.
I get the appeal of fake plants. We want the fruit without the work, the aesthetic without the need to provide care. In my house, we’ve killed our fair share of indoor plants by neglecting to provide water and sunlight. Nonetheless, I’d rather have no plants than fake ones.
I love real plants—especially trees. The old southern live oak tree is my personal favorite, with its eerie low branches and grey Spanish moss. The live oak seems to embody the southern gothic culture and charm evident in cities like Savannah, Charleston, and New Orleans. Trees seem to have personalities, like they’ve accrued wisdom over time. Perhaps Tolkien was on to something when he created his Ents.
Did you know that trees communicate?
The more I learn about trees, the more I understand why they seem to be one of God’s favorite metaphors for describing our relationship with him. In the Bible, humans are trees. In Psalm 1, for example, the blessed man who meditates day and night on God’s word is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season. In Isaiah 5, Israel has been cared for as God’s choice vine but is only bearing bad fruit. Jesus, however, is the Father’s true vine, and only those who abide in him bear lasting fruit (John 15).
Just like trees, human beings require care or perish, are affected by our environment, thrive in community, and contain complex internal processes that the physical eye cannot see. Just as the tree depends on vital connections, the human only flourishes when connected to Christ.
As we become more and more dependent on machines in modern life—as we exchange real trees for fake ones—the machine supplants the tree as the dominant metaphor for understanding ourselves. Increasingly, the human mind is imagined as a computer, the human being as a robot. Some gleefully anticipate the day when actual machines will meld with our minds to create superhumans. The metaphor of the machine has become the dominant image for understanding ourselves. If you’re doubtful of that claim, consider Joy Marie Clarkson’s description of our reliance on the machine metaphor in everyday language:
“But think of how we describe ourselves processing something like a hard drive whirring away, or how we tell a friend that we need to update each other about life events like new software. We adjust to new circumstances like a car whose tires need to be rotated; people push our buttons; we need to power down so we can recharge. When we don’t understand something, we might say it does not compute. When someone has been influenced to think or behave in a certain way, we say that they were programmed to trust authority. We might describe ourselves as a slow processor. This metaphor can even be a compliment: of someone who is particularly productive we often say they are a machine.”
The machine metaphor leads us to expect technical solutions for our human problems. Alan Noble describes the consequences of this mindset: “Whatever challenges we face can be solved. That’s society’s promise. Whatever problems you have, someone has developed a method for overcoming it. A pill. A treatment. A mindset. Which means that if you don’t overcome your problems, it’s your own fault.”
If we are machines, we will seek technical solutions to our glitches and malfunctions. More than that, we will see problems where no problems exist, because we are reliant on the wrong metaphor. Clarkson writes, “If we are computers, then we should be able to expect the same thing of ourselves every day; if we are not behaving, performing, or producing at the same speed, something is wrong with us.” And what do you do when a computer no longer functions as it ought? “There is nothing to be done; we are no longer valuable and should be disposed of.”
Proverbs wisely instructs the sluggard to “go to the ant” to study its ways. When it comes to understanding ourselves as human beings, the biblical perspective is “go to the tree, for you are a tree.” We’re drawn to the machine for the same reason we’re drawn to the fake plant—we want production without the hard and slow work it takes to get it. We want quick results minus the God-connected process. But machines can’t produce genuine fruit. Jesus doesn’t use fake plants.
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